


black hole hearts

by softambrollins



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst and Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Dom/sub Undertones, Enemies to Lovers, Hate Sex, Hook-Up, Humiliation, Light Bondage, Love/Hate, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 19:49:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14315916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softambrollins/pseuds/softambrollins
Summary: His love for Seth is like a fucking black hole, eating away at him from the inside. But if this ends up destroying one of them, he's going to make damn sure it's not him. He's not going to give him the satisfaction.Or: Seven times they walked away (and one time they didn't).





	black hole hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Spans from Extreme Rules 2014 to after TLC 2017.
> 
> I just wanted to write some angsty hooking up post-Shield breakup and it obviously got a bit out of hand. Oh well.

1\. 

The last thing he remembers from the match is looking up and seeing Seth falling from the balcony above them. It almost happens in slow motion; he just gets closer and closer, and it's confusing, he's not sure exactly what's happening until it does and —

 _Oh_ , is all he thinks before the impact. Then he hits the ground and it all goes blank. 

*

He vaguely remembers Roman physically picking him up off the floor, hoisting him up on his shoulders, then reaching out for Seth, helping him up but not letting go of his hand — almost like he was tethering them together, like as long as they could feel each other, they'd be okay.

He's not sure exactly what the fuck he's saying at the press conference after but he knows that he means every word of it somehow. 

He'd gladly take a bullet for Seth, for Roman, without a moment's doubt. 

*

It's strange to think about how it was in the beginning now. Roman treated them both like brothers from the start, and it was hard to trust that, because Dean hadn't ever had that kind of unconditional support before, but he _wanted_ to, he wanted to so badly. 

Seth was different, though — he wasn't ever cold or aloof, but Dean could tell that he was trying to keep it as professional as possible. Keep some distance between them, not get too attached. They weren't really sure what this was yet or how long it would last. It was for his own protection. 

Of course, they all quickly discovered that it's basically impossible to travel together, eat together, train together, sleep together, fight in wars together without feeling like family. It's only been about a year and a half, but it feels like a lot longer than that, and now it's hard to even imagine it ever not being like this.

* 

There's a knock on his door that night — well, morning, technically, it's almost 3am. And it's not unusual for them to barge into each other's room at all odd hours, but it feels different this time. Seth looks weird, not just tired or banged-up from the match, but like something else is weighing on him. He's usually good at hiding it, though. Unless he doesn't want to. Unless he can't anymore.

"Can I come in?" he asks. He _sounds_ strange too, voice gone all faint and quiet.

Dean eases the door open, light from the hallway spilling into the space between them. When he closes it again, the only source of illumination in the room is the small lamp on the nightstand behind them. But it's enough to trace the outline of Seth's face, his silhouette, right there in front of him.

"What's going on?" Dean asks, deliberately keeping his tone even.

"I just — I wanted to make sure you were okay. For real," Seth says, meeting his eyes significantly at the last part. Dean also has a habit of hiding when he's not entirely okay, and they both know it.

"Yeah, man, I'm all good. Promise. Just a couple bumps and bruises." He shrugs. "What about you?"

"I'm fine," Seth tells him. "But I don't know. I've just been up...thinking about things. And if I'd hurt you —"

" _Seth_ ," Dean says seriously, reaching out to rest a firm but gentle hand on his shoulder. "I meant what I said. I don't fucking care about that. I know you just did what you had to do. Got it?"

Seth just nods, a tiny, almost relieved smile on his lips. "Yeah, I know. But I just — sometimes I don't even think before I do something stupid and reckless. And it's kind of scary, to be honest."

"Well, I know all about that," Dean assures him, with a smirk. "And don't worry about it. I'll always be there to break your fall."

It's always been hard for him to rely on people, to be there, always, but he and Seth have always had something different between them. Seth _gets_ him in a way no one else really has before. He's his anchor through all the wild, crazy times, through all the wars, through all the times people have tried to tear them apart. And if Seth needs him, he'll be his anchor too.

Seth gives him a more genuine smile now, eyes warm and shining in the dark.

He's about to pull away then but Seth reaches up and catches his hand before he can move it, an inscrutable look on his face. Dean just stares at him, eyes narrowed.

Seth bites his lip now, looking uncertain, but something else too — almost longing. 

"Can we just — not do this tonight?" he asks, voice sounding thin and strained.

"What?" Dean asks, genuinely puzzled.

"Can we just — stop pretending?" Seth says, looking right up into Dean's eyes, his gaze fixed and determined now.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he says, mouth going dry. Even though there's no question what he means from the way Seth's looking at him.

Seth looks frustrated for a moment. Dean sees him clench his jaw before swallowing hard. "I mean — this _thing_ where something almost happens, but then it _doesn't_ , and we just act like it was nothing. I'm just — I'm tired, I'm _so tired_. Can we please not do that — just for tonight?"

And okay, maybe this isn't exactly the first time this has happened. 

There have been multiple nights, multiple bars, when they both got pretty wasted and then stumbled through parking lots, laughing and holding on to each other, in towns up and down the country that he can't even remember now, that all blur into one. Like that time Seth somehow ended up pinned between the side of the car and Dean's body, an arm around Dean's waist the only thing keeping him upright, and they were so, so close, Dean barely had to move to be kissing him — but something compelled him to pull away just before their lips touched, and Seth looked confused and disappointed, and Dean cursed himself for it for the rest of the night and week, but it would've been a mistake, he knew that, he wasn't going to jeopardise one of the best things he'd ever had in his life. Love never really worked out that well when your name was Dean Ambrose. 

They've also spent a lot of late, quiet nights just like this one, in hotel rooms all over the world, sharing a bed, talking about everything and nothing. Seth gets uncharacteristically sentimental sometimes, talking about where they were before, how they found each other, what they're going to do in the future. One night, he'd worked up the courage to finally do something, to roll over and takes Seth's hand in his own, to lean in and kiss him in the darkness — but when he eventually did, Seth was already asleep. 

He's resigned himself to the truth that maybe all they'll ever be is a series of missed opportunities.

But now Seth's still just looking at him, like he can see through every guise he's ever tried to put on, and he doesn't know what to say. 

So, he just lifts his hand up to Seth's face instead, touches his fingertips to his cheek. He feels Seth let out a breath. 

He shakes his head. "It wasn't nothing," Dean tells him earnestly, before he leans in and kisses Seth. 

He's tired too, so fucking tired of wanting and not having, of stopping right before he makes the leap. Of holding back. It's not in his nature. It's not in Seth's. They're always going to be the ones who jump headfirst without looking down. Fuck whatever's waiting for them at the bottom.

But Seth's words keep echoing in his mind — _just for tonight_ — as he slides his hands up Seth's back, kissing him harder, Seth gasping softly against his mouth, as he pulls him in by his hips, guiding him backwards to the bed, as he falls back onto it, Seth's body covering his own, mouthing at his neck, his collarbone, yanking Dean's shirt off and then his own, as his lips trail further and further down his chest and stomach, burning everywhere they touch, fingers tracing his ribs, then digging into his hip bones, then hooking themselves under his waistband, sliding his pants down —

He thinks about it when he's lying awake afterward, watching while Seth's sleeping next to him, lying on his stomach, hair in his face, breathing gently.

He lets himself reach out and touch his cheek, just ghosting his fingers over his warm skin, for a second. One last time.

Seth's gone when he wakes up the next morning.

 

2\. 

The first time they're really alone together is about two weeks after. Another small town just had a fucking blast watching them rip each other apart, but Dean's not finished. He hasn't had enough for tonight. And apparently Seth's let his guard down, which is not like him at all. Not one bit. He's all on his own, a towel wrapped around his waist, heading back to the locker room from the showers. It's almost like he's fucking _asking_ for this. And it would be a damn shame to not give him what he wants.

He wants to rip Seth's heart right out of his chest the way Seth ripped his out. He's not sure he even has one anymore, though.

His love for Seth is like a fucking black hole, eating away at him from the inside. But if this ends up destroying one of them, he's going to make damn sure it's not him. He's not going to give him the satisfaction.

He broke his fucking heart but all that did was turn his will to steel. Gave him purpose and focus. Made him even more fucking dangerous. 

He's gonna regret it.

He thinks about punching him in the face, and that's always fun, but he decides against it. Maybe it's time for a more creative kind of punishment. He's always appreciated the finer things in life, like the slow torture of humiliation.

Dean twists his arm behind his back, slams him into the mirror in front of them, grabs him by a fistful of wet hair, slowly drags his face over the hard, smooth surface.

He wants him to look at himself. See what he's become.

He's alternating between crying out in pain and throwing curses at Dean like some kind of feral cat. At least he's not begging. Not yet. That's almost admirable.

Dean's pressed up close behind him, mouth next to his ear, breathing hot against his skin.

"You knew, didn't you?" he says, voice calm and hushed. "That night — that night you were _in my bed_ — you fucking _knew_ you were gonna do this."

Fuck all Seth's bullshit about being reckless. There's nothing about Seth's betrayal that wasn't deliberate, calculated, planned and executed to absolute perfection. It was a work of fucking art. He almost wants to congratulate him on how far and deep his deception really went. Seth takes being a fucking lying, cheating, traitorous scumbag to all new, impressive levels.

"Fuck you, Ambrose," he grits out, and Dean seriously considers taping his mouth shut. Probably won't be as much fun, though. 

He thinks about it for a second, before he lets go of one hand and uses it to take his own tank top off. Seth struggles against him for a moment, but it doesn't do much good. Honestly, it's like he's not even really trying to get free.

 _See how you like this_ , he thinks, before tying his wrists together behind his back with the black material.

"The fuck are you doing?" Seth demands, sounding actually panicked now.

"Relax, man," Dean teases. "It's just cheap cotton. Sure you're strong enough to rip it."

Seth tries, once then twice, then Dean stops him, one hand encircling his wrists —

"But if you rip it, I'm gonna punish you," he warns him.

Seth actually laughs at that now. "When I get my hands on you, Ambrose — you're gonna pay for this. You're gonna fucking —"

"Nah," Dean says, shaking his head. "You ain't gonna do a damn thing. Because you know..." He gets as close as he can to his face — Seth closing his eyes and trying to flinch away — before saying it. "You know you deserve this."

Seth groans in frustration, tries to kick Dean's leg out from under him, but Dean knows his tricks too well, he's not going anywhere unless he wants him to.

Dean pins him to the wall even harder then, his hips pressed into Seth's ass — and he lets out a whimper that doesn't sound like it's only out of pain. He stifles it a second too late.

"Fuck, you're getting hard from this, aren't you?" Dean realises, eyes wide, going breathless all of a sudden.

God, this is even better than he imagined it would be. Having Seth utterly at his mercy. Knowing that he's still so fucking weak for him.

"I should've known. You're a fucking kinky bastard, huh?" Dean says, then laughs mirthlessly. Figures that Seth would be fucking getting off on being degraded like this. Maybe that's the reason he did it in the first place. Dean wouldn't put it past him. Seth's just as fucked-up as he is.

Seth looks like he's going to die from both the embarrassment and the fact that Dean's words are obviously turning him on even harder.

He thinks about leaving him there to take care of himself, maybe someone will walk in on him moaning Dean's name — but he can't stop himself — he can't deny that seeing Seth like this is stirring the arousal hot and thick inside of him too —

He wraps a hand around Seth's jaw, pulls him back against him, roughly kisses the back of his neck, rolls his hips against his ass through the thin cotton. Seth's thrusting weakly against the wall in front of him, desperate for friction, desperate to get off.

Dean rips his towel off in one motion, lets it fall to the floor, slides his arm around Seth's waist, tightly closes his fist around him.

"This is what you want, huh? This is what you think about when I have my hands on you in the ring?"

Seth doesn't say anything, but the way he's responding to his touch says he's right. 

He intends to drag it out as long as possible, make it as excruciating as he can, but in a few strokes, Seth's already coming hard, all over his hand and on the wall.

Dean stares down at his hand before bringing it up to Seth's mouth, lets him lick his fingers clean.

He finally turns him around to face him, Seth shaky-legged and panting.

He pushes him down to his knees in front of him, gentler than he means to, his hands still tied behind his back. Seth looks up at him, hair wild, pupils blown open, one eye swollen from the ring tonight, lips bitten raw — he looks like a fucking wreck. Somehow, it doesn't make Dean feel any better.

He opens his jeans with one hand, guides Seth's mouth with the other. He's barely resisting now, he lets Dean fuck his mouth, chokes around it but that only makes him more eager. He remembers how much Seth enjoyed doing this. It's probably the least satisfying blowjob of his life, though.

Seth swallows when he comes, and everything feels dirty and wrong and he fucking hates himself as much as he hates Seth in that moment. He doesn't look at him and he tucks himself in, zips up his jeans, pulls his shirt free from Seth's wrists, tucks it into his back pocket.

Dean leans down, grabs him by the throat, looks him right in the eyes.

"This is what you gave up," he snarls at him before letting him go.

Dean shoves him away hard before spitting at his feet and walking out, leaving Seth still naked and on his knees on the cold floor, taking deep breaths, chest heaving.

 

3.

He doesn't even take the time to appreciate the fact that he just beat fucking fifteen-time world champion John Cena in a match, because he's too busy staring at the damn contract in his hands. The piece of paper that basically says that he can finally, finally have everything he's been wanting for the last four months, the only thing he's been thinking about, the thing that's kept him up at night driving him stir crazy — _This contract grants you the right to Seth Rollins' head on a platter, inside Hell in a Cell, and not a damn soul can do anything about it. Enjoy._

It feels like a gift from the gods. This isn't going to save him but it's gonna feel damn good.

It's not just about tearing Seth apart. It's tearing out this fucking feeling in his chest — the utter fucking agony and rage he's felt for months. It's tearing out everything he's ever felt for Seth Rollins. Sucking all the poison out.

He's sitting on a bench in the locker room unravelling the tape from around his wrists, contract sitting next to him, when he hears footsteps approach and he instinctively gets to his feet.

It's Seth, because of course it's fucking Seth, he can't even give him one moment's peace and quiet to enjoy this one thing. He wonders if he has some kind of alarm that goes off every time Dean's even close to having something good happen in his life.

"The fuck do you want, man?" he asks, more tired than actually pissed-off at this point.

"You don't want this match," Seth tells him, getting right up in his face, looking him straight in the eyes.

Dean laughs incredulously. "Are you serious?"

Seth sighs heavily. "Why couldn't you just walk away?" He almost looks regretful, or he would if he even knew what that emotion felt like.

"Why didn't _you_?" Dean counters. Maybe that would've been fucking worse, though, if Seth had just left like a thief in the night without a word. He wouldn't have this violent hate to hang onto. He wouldn't have anything. Just like he wouldn't have Seth.

Seth actually looks shaken for a moment. Then he just smirks that sickening, self-satisfied smirk again. "The Shield's dead," he says bluntly. "I killed it. Get over it."

"Nah," Dean says, smiling, shaking his head. "Not just yet. You still have to pay, Seth. And then you'll be dead. To _me_."

Seth can't hide it then. He looks panicked and angry at the same time, staring at Dean. 

"And you'd hate that, wouldn't you?" Dean continues, voice lower. "That's your worst fucking nightmare."

"Shut up," Seth growls, and Dean can feel his blood boiling. "None of this is about _you_."

"Yeah?" Dean says, with a smirk of his own. "Well, do something about it then."

He's sure he's riled Seth up enough to take a swing at him, but he doesn't — he just grabs Dean by the front of his shirt and pulls him into a rough kiss.

He thinks about pushing him off for all of two seconds before he just makes a frustrated noise against Seth's mouth and presses him back against the lockers behind them. If Seth wants this, he's going to give it to him as good as he can. Give him enough bruises so he can't forget. Give him enough memories that he can't wash away. He wants him to think about this every time he's lying in bed late at night and he closes his eyes. He wants it to haunt his dreams. 

Seth tugs him closer by his hips, kissing him deep and breathless. He's already half-hard, rutting against Dean's thigh, moaning wantonly into his mouth.

"Please, Dean. _Please_ ," he begs, hands scrabbling at the bare skin of his lower back, seeking as much contact as possible. And he thinks it's the first time Seth's said his name in months. It's definitely the first time he's ever said his name like _that_.

He gets his hands between them, hastily unbuttons Seth's jeans, shoves them halfway down his legs along with his underwear. He undoes his own pants, and Seth clumsily pulls them down off his hips, hands sliding inside the back of his underwear. The kiss is more breath and heat than anything else right now.

He thinks about turning him around, but he wants Seth to _look_ at him. Needs him to remember who he belongs to.

Seth manages to slide all the way out of his jeans, hooks his leg around Dean's hip to get a good angle as Dean slowly eases into him, acutely feeling how hot and tight Seth is. Seth's just really, really quiet for a moment, and he gives him a second to adjust before he pulls out again, then pushes in with a little more force, deeper this time.

Seth makes a small keening sound then, and Dean takes it as an okay to keep going. He gradually increases the speed of his hips until he's fucking him hard and fast into the cold, metal surface, one hand tightly grasping his waist, holding him up, the other jerking Seth off in time.

They're making a fucking racket as it is — and Seth doesn't know how to keep quiet, he thinks about putting his fingers in his mouth but he thinks that might make it worse — and it's a fucking miracle that no one comes in to check things out. Or maybe it's just shit luck.

Dean's knees almost buckle when he comes, so intense that it takes him by surprise. He keeps working over Seth with his hand until he's following with a broken noise that almost sounds like a sob.

Dean lets go of his hold on Seth, but stays close, just breathing, warm and heavy, against his neck.

"You're mine, Seth, you'll always be mine," he says right against his ear, fingers tangled in his hair. 

Seth pulls away from his grip then, leans back against the lockers, trying to catch his breath, pulling his jeans back on. He doesn't look back up at him. 

It feels like the end. It should be the end. No matter what happens in the Cell.

He walks away from him without turning to look back.

 

4.

He doesn't even actually think about if he's really going to do it or not until the chair's in his hands and Seth's entire body's squirming under his boot.

But what the hell, right? Turnabout's fair play and all. 

He can almost imagine the sound when his head smashes into the concrete.

But Seth's slippery — he's always been. Not today, he guesses. He won't be so lucky in the future, though. 

Dean's gonna take his title. And a bit more, just for good measure. Humiliate him, decimate him. Show everyone how fucking weak their golden boy really is. Tonight's only the beginning.

He's just about to leave the arena, maybe get some beers, celebrate a good day's work. And then his phone goes off.

All it says is _From Scumbag: I'm going to fucking kill you_

Dean just smiles widely at the screen.

He absently types out _Just send me your location Princess_ and presses send.

He figures that's the end of it for tonight. Seth's probably throwing a fucking tantrum, but he'll wear himself out eventually, like a screaming toddler. 

He doesn't expect him to actually send back a room number and the address of the fanciest hotel in the area.

It has to be some kind of setup, right? But Dean's — intrigued nonetheless. What the hell, right. As far as he's concerned, any extra minute that he's getting under Seth's skin is a minute well spent.

He expects to be stopped by security when he goes into the lobby. He expects to be grabbed, head stuffed in a bag, and taken to some room in the basement where he'll get his skull kicked in. But no one pays him any attention. Not even when he's taken the elevator up and is standing outside Seth's suite. Clearly not belonging here.

When Seth opens the door, he's still wearing his stupid fancy suit, silk shirt, shiny black shoes. He kind of wants to just grab him by the lapels of his jacket and rip all his clothes off of him, stitch by stitch. He kinda feels like maybe Seth would let him too, no matter how pissed-off he looks right now — 

"What the fuck was that, Ambrose?" Seth says in lieu of a greeting.

"What? You enjoyed it a bit too much?" Dean replies offhandedly.

But from the way Seth practically flinches at his words and averts his eyes, he has to be right.

Dean just stares at him wide-eyed for a moment.

"Is that what it was?" Dean asks breathily. "Were you getting off in front of all those people —?"

"Shut the fuck up, Ambrose," Seth says, his skin flushing pink.

"What are you gonna do about it?" he says, knowing that Seth can't ever resist being challenged outright. Especially not by him.

"Maybe I should do the same thing to you," Seth says, the words much bolder than his voice sounds right now. "Maybe you like it when I hurt you."

"Try it, Princess," Dean dares him.

Seth just bites his lip and then he's dragging him into the suite, somewhere in between kissing and scuffling, and they're blindly stumbling over shit, something definitely gets knocked over but neither of them gives a fuck, and he ends up pinned under Seth on the couch.

Seth just grins down at him, holding both his wrists down with his own hands, hair falling into his face. He looks way too pleased with himself, and Dean's really not about to admit defeat. Not now. Not ever.

He uses the brief moment when Seth thinks he's secured the upper hand and he lets his guard down and relaxes slightly to pull his hands free from Seth's grip, grab Seth by the hips and roll them both off the couch and onto the carpet, Dean on top of Seth.

" _Fuck_ ," Seth mutters, and before he can say anything else, Dean leans down and catches his lips in a proper kiss. Except there's definitely a bit more biting and struggling for control than is probably considered normal. 

Seth winds his fingers into Dean's hair for leverage. Dean tips Seth's head back so he can graze his lips and teeth down the sensitive skin on his neck. He starts tugging at the buttons on Seth's stupid fancy shirt and they keep slipping through his fingers, and he's cursing at them, and Seth's yelling at him to _just hurry the fuck up_ — so he ends up tearing it off his torso. Leaning down, tasting his skin, swirling his tongue around Seth's hard nipples just to hear him let out that little whine in his throat, brushing open-mouthed kisses down the trail of dark hair leading under his waistband — 

He pauses for a second, looking back up at Seth before reaching for his belt, unbuckling it, unzipping his pants. He just gently slides one hand inside, feeling the outline of him through his underwear.

"Is this what you wanted?" he asks quietly. "When I had you at my mercy out there in front of everyone —"

"God, just fucking touch me — _please_ ," Seth gasps, and Dean can feel him eagerly pressing his hips up into his touch.

Dean considers torturing him for a little longer, but he thinks Seth might actually deck him and it's pretty fucking hot to see how much Seth wants this, wants _him_ , his body writhing under him. 

He quickly slides Seth's underwear and his five-hundred-dollar slacks down, firmly wraps a hand around the base of him. He hears the hitch in Seth’s breath and he doesn't hesitate before leaning down and sucking the head of Seth's dick into his mouth. 

He hasn't done this in a long time and definitely not sober, but Seth seems to be liking it, from the way he's practically vibrating underneath him, struggling to keep his hips steady, grip tightening in his hair, incoherent curses spilling from his lips. 

He takes a breath before swallowing him down deeper, hollowing out his cheeks, lips sliding along the length of him, tasting salt and _Seth_ on his tongue. 

When he can feel that Seth's close, his pace gets faster and faster, hand pumping in time with his mouth. 

" _Fuck_ , I'm gonna —" Seth calls out, eyes closed, head thrown back. 

Dean pulls off with a soft wet sound and Seth digs his nails into the carpet on either side of him, spine arching upwards, as he comes hard, in thick, white stripes.

He just lies there breathing hard for a minute, Dean sitting up, still between his legs, just looking at him. 

He expects Seth to throw him out then, but he just gets to his feet, grabs him by the wrist and leads him into his room, locks the door behind him, drags him into his bed, lets Dean fuck him on Egyptian cotton sheets.

*

He wakes up to Seth's phone going off. When he rolls over, brushes the hair out of his face, Seth's just casually lying there, replying to someone's text.

It occurs to him that he slept the whole night in Seth's bed, next to Seth, and anything in the world could've happened to him. But it didn't. He's still here. Seth's still here.

"You should probably get out of here before someone sees you," Seth tells him, doing a great job at feigning concern.

Dean just throws his clothes back on and gets the hell out of dodge.

 

5\. 

Someone's pounding on his fucking door and he doesn't know what the time is, he's not even entirely sure which city he's in, or which state for that matter — he just needs it to _stop_. He's gonna punch the fucking lights out of whoever the fuck's waking him up right now.

He opens the door wide, ready to tell whoever's there to fuck off if they don't want a broken rib or two, which is probably a huge mistake. Because then he gets jumped by Seth Rollins.

Seth grabs him by the front of his shirt and slams him into a wall.

"Where the _fuck_ is my title, Ambrose?" he demands.

Dean just starts laughing, because he would've taken a significant amount of pleasure in kicking the shit out of any random idiot who decided to knock on his door right about now, but this is a huge upgrade, no doubt about it.

"Can we, uh — maybe do this some other time?" he asks, mostly to annoy the shit out of Seth. "When I'm actually awake?"

"I'm not fucking playing, Ambrose," Seth seethes. "Give me the fucking belt."

"Okay, Jesus, just let me go and I'll get it for you," Dean says, managing to give him his most convincing look.

Seth just narrows his eyes at him suspiciously. But then he slowly backs away from him, still looking wary.

"I'm not gonna try anything," Dean says, rolling his eyes. "Way too fucking hungover for that."

As he says this, he spots a half-empty bottle on the table, grabs it, chugs it. 

"So, where's the title?" Seth asks impatiently after a moment of just staring at him. 

"Oh, about that —" he says, like he's just remembered it. "Yeah, first you have to do something for _me_."

"That wasn't the fucking deal —" Seth says, fuming.

"Well, deal's off. Because I know this isn't about the belt. If you really wanted it, you would've called the cops again or something. That's not why you're here."

"Why else would I be here?"

Dean just raises his eyebrows at him.

Seth actually does a good job of looking completely fucking outraged. "Are you fucking kidding me? Get over yourself. You think I still think about you? I haven't thought about you in —"

"I know what you're thinking every single time you look at me, Princess," Dean cuts him off.

Seth huffs a sigh. "I don't have time for this. What the fuck do you want?"

Dean pretends to think about it for a moment. "Hmm. I want you to...get on your knees."

"What?" Seth asks, genuinely startled.

"I'm serious. If you want your title back, you have to _beg_ for it."

"We're not —" he stammers. "We're not fucking doing this."

"Doing what?" Dean says, feigning innocence.

"Whatever the fuck you're thinking about in that messed-up head of yours," Seth says, obviously getting flustered now, not even looking at him anymore.

"Hey, you're the one who came bursting into my room in the middle of the night —"

"It's eight in the morning," Seth says, exasperated.

"Same thing. Whatever." Dean shrugs. "So, are you gonna do it, or are you gonna leave me the hell alone?"

"I told you, I'm not —"

"What if there's something in it for you?" Dean interrupts him. "And I don't just mean the belt."

"Like what exactly?" Seth asks, eyebrows raised, obviously humouring him.

"I'll give you what you want," he says simply.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Seth says, looking perturbed.

"You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about," Dean tells him, with a sweet smile. "There's a reason you keep coming back for more —"

Seth doesn't even bother to deny it this time. He just looks at Dean appraisingly. "Yeah, and what about you? All these stupid stunts you keep pulling — you expect me to believe you're not just doing it to get my attention?"

Dean smirks. "I don't need to do anything to get your attention, sunshine. You on the other hand — you'd probably fucking _die_ if I ever stopped paying attention to you."

"So, where does that leave us?" Seth asks, tone almost vulnerable now.

Dean just stops to consider it for a second before levelling him with another look. "Get on your knees," he repeats.

*

Half an hour later, Seth's putting his pants back on, trying to tame his hair. Dean's just sitting on the bed, watching, still in just his underwear, swirling a drink around in his hand.

"So, are you gonna give it to me now?" Seth asks.

"Thought I already did," Dean deadpans.

Seth rolls his eyes. "I'm not fucking joking. Where is it?"

"Honestly," Dean says, getting up and walking over to Seth, a regretful look on his face. "I don't fucking know, man. It was a long fucking night."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Seth bursts out, his eyes looking like they're going to bulge out of their sockets from rage.

"Don't worry about it, man," Dean tells him soothingly, resting a hand on his shoulder. "I'll find it. Just think about it as shared custody, okay? Until I take it from you properly."

Then, he unceremoniously shoves him out the door and goes back to bed.

 

6.

It's only been a couple months since he saw him, but Seth even _looks_ different now. He's put on some bulk, his beard's thicker, his hair's longer, he looks — older. But in a good way. Healthier. Well-rested. Happier. Back when he was the champion, Seth was always on-edge, always thrumming with anxious energy. Maybe he thought no one could tell, but Dean's always been able to see right through Seth's pretences. And it was because he knew someone was always coming after him, and he was scared to death of losing his spot, but it's also because Seth's a stubborn son-of-a-bitch who doesn't know when to stop, who pushes himself way too far all the time. Maybe they have that in common.

The time off's done him good. He's more self-assured. His stupid suits fit him better now, like they're actually his and he's not playing dress-up in daddy's clothes. At least his fucking skunk streak's mostly gone, though. Or maybe it's actually a shame — it's easier to hate him when he looks like a fucking idiot. But — he doesn't look like _his_ Seth anymore. He's not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

Of course he's still the same fucking asshole he's always been. Maybe even worse. Somehow, his injury's made him even more sanctimonious and entitled and fucking insufferable. He didn't even think that was possible.

He's thought about it, more times than he probably likes to admit, about calling, going to see him — but he doesn't know what the hell he would've even said to him. That he deserved it? That it made him happy to see him like that? It's just sad to think about it. There's nothing fun about torturing a man in a knee brace who's powerless to do anything about it, even if he's your worst fucking enemy, the scum of the earth, the smiling bastard who stabbed you through the heart and tore your entire life apart on a whim for his own fucking amusement.

He has to already know, right? That that was his punishment. That's what he had to coming to him all along. Losing everything, losing his whole world, the way Dean did once.

All he does is smile now, though. And Dean wants more than anything for Seth to keep smiling, to get everything he wants, to reclaim his spot and his title, to stand with his hand raised on the top of the mountain — smiling, laughing — only for Dean to sneak up behind him and slide a knife right through his ribs — and watch as he falls all the way to the bottom — 

Dean can see it in his head as clearly as if it's already happened. He's not gonna slide his slippery, slimy ass out of this one.

He won't be smiling then.

*

The first time he comes face-to-face with him since November is in a dark parking lot outside a bar long after midnight.

He's just casually leaning against the driver's door of Dean's car, arms and ankles crossed. He's not wearing a damn suit for once; he's a bit more nondescript this time, dark jeans and hoodie and hat covering his face, almost like he doesn't want to be recognised.

He actually fucking smirks when he sees Dean approach. 

"The hell do you want, Rollins?" he says, curt, like he was expecting this. That couldn't be farther from the truth.

"What, you didn't miss me?" Seth teases. And they're not doing this, not now, not ever. Seth doesn't just get to show up here and try to play games with him just because he's been gone for six months. They're not old friends, they're not ex-lovers who do the whole playful, flirty banter thing, they're not _anything_.

"Get out of my way, man," Dean tells him in a tone that implies the _or else_.

"Okay, fine," Seth says, throwing his hands up and moving away from the car, but not too far. "I just wanted to see if you listened to my message."

"What message?" Dean says at once.

Seth looks surprised. "Oh, you didn't get it — ?"

"Oh, _that_ message," Dean cuts him off, without even looking at him. "Yeah, I deleted that." He's lying. Seth can probably tell he's lying. He doesn't care. He meant to delete it. He really did. But now it's just still on his voicemail, never listened to.

"Well, it was nothing important anyway. I just kind of got fucked up one night and it happened — You know how it is —" Seth says, clearly trying to downplay the whole thing.

"Should've lost my number a long time ago. Then it _wouldn't_ have happened." He doesn't explain why he hasn't deleted Seth's either.

"Do you want me to?" he asks, looking almost hurt by it.

"I don't fucking care what you do," Dean says honestly. "I just don't want to have to look at you. Or listen to you."

Seth just nods. "Fine, okay, I'll go."

He starts slowly walking away but then stops himself, and maybe this was his plan all along, turning back to Dean and saying, "Anyway, just so you know, the gist of the message was...I missed _you_."

Dean just closes his eyes and lets out a sigh, before he's grabbing Seth by the front of his shirt and pulling him in, pressing him back against the side of the car and kissing him, hard enough to draw blood. 

Seth gasps against his mouth and he tugs his bottom lip between his teeth, bites down on it, pushes his tongue into Seth's mouth, before grasping a fistful of his hair and forcing his head back so he can slide his lips down his neck, pausing to suck a dark bruise into his skin.

He lets go after a minute, but only to reach up and pull Seth's hoodie off his shoulders, then his own jacket, before twisting Seth's body around so he's pressed up behind him, hands wandering up under his shirt, skin hot to the touch, and then under the waistband of his jeans, cupping him through the thin cotton of his underwear.

He thinks about pulling his pants down and just fucking him right there against the side of the car, but it's cold out, and they're out in the open, so he decides against it, opens the back door, half-shoves Seth in before following him. 

There's a half a moment when he wonders what the fuck he's doing and why they somehow always end up right here and what the fuck is it about Seth that's so maddening and infuriating and irresistible that it makes him want to kill him and fuck him in equal measure. He's tried so hard, to numb this feeling, to stop caring, to convince himself that Seth Rollins is nobody and nothing to him — 

Fucking him doesn't count as looking at him or listening to him, right? 

_Fuck._ He's fucking doomed.

Seth just stares at him in the dark of the car for a second before he moves first, kissing him gently and sort of tentatively, before pulling back, licking his lips — and then they both move at the same time, Dean pulling Seth down on top of him so he's straddling his lap, shirts coming off hastily. It's a tight fit but it doesn't matter. He just needs this so fucking bad, no matter what, right now, and he can feel that same urgency and desire in Seth's body.

Seth manages to get his jeans off and repositions himself so that his ass is directly on top of Dean's crotch. If he wasn't hard before, he definitely is now. Seth unbuttons his jeans and slides his pants and underwear down his thighs before reaching down for his own pants on the floor and pulling a small bottle out of his back pocket.

Apparently he came prepared for this. That almost makes Dean want to hate him more. But he can't find the will to hate him right now when all he wants is for Seth to stop dicking around so he can get his dick inside him.

He finally gets the bottle open, pours a generous amount of lube over Dean's fingers, before raising his hips up and waiting — 

He has to bend his arm at an awkward angle to work his fingers deep enough inside Seth, but it's satisfying, the way Seth falls apart around them, moaning and thrusting his hips down onto them. Dean's sure he can come just like this, but Dean wants him to come riding him, and from the way Seth's breathing hard and digging his fingernails into the car seat, begging for Dean to _just fucking get inside me already_ , he wants the same thing.

He slowly slides his fingers out and grabs Seth by the hips instead, lining them up before gently pressing in.

"God, you're so fucking tight," Dean mutters.

Seth lets out a laugh that's half helpless and half annoyed. "Just fuck me, please. I'm not gonna break."

He knows that too fucking well. This would all be so much easier if he could just hurt Seth enough so he wouldn't keep coming back.

He feels Seth relax around him, taking him in gradually, eyes closed, hands on Dean's stomach in front of him, until he's riding him slow and steady, then faster, harder, Dean's fingers leaving marks on his hips, his other hand wrapped around Seth, stroking him in time with Seth's rhythm. 

Dean feels the gasp and full-bodied shudder before Seth's coming, on his stomach and chest, clenching hard around him. "Oh, fuck, _Dean_ ," he breathes and it sounds way too familiar, and it makes something twinge in Dean's chest. He doesn't stop moving for a few more moments, though, and then Dean's spilling inside him.

Dean's barely pulled out before he's grabbing his clothes, hurriedly putting them on, trying to fix his hair. He still looks like he just got fucked, though: lips swollen, marks on his neck, skin flushed and covered with a thin sheen of sweat.

"See you around," is all he says, tone strangely soft, not meeting his eyes, before he gets out of Dean's car and walks off into the night. Like he was never here at all.

*

He listens to the message afterwards: just Seth sounding muffled and far away, voice scratchy, like it's been a while since he's talked this much to anyone.

"I don't know why I'm calling you, man," he starts, and he sounds...young, uncertain, unnervingly like _his_ Seth. "I'm probably gonna regret this. But I feel like there's no one else to call. You know, when I woke up after the surgery, I was alone for a while. And I wasn't thinking about anything. Not about wrestling or the title or — any of that. There was just this one moment when it all went away. And I remembered the day we first got together. And I don't know — something about it just felt right. And ending it felt right too. It couldn't last, Dean, you had to have known that. People like us don't get happy endings. I'll see you around. Soon, I hope."

It's the saddest he's heard Seth sound in years. He wonders if this changes anything. Or if they're too far gone for that.

He thinks about deleting it, like he said he had, but he doesn't. Not right now anyway.

He doesn't listen to it again. Some things are best left alone.

 

7.

He never thought he would be watching cartoons and drinking cheap booze the night he wins the WWE Championship. But he never really imagined he'd get anywhere near this point in the first place. So, he supposes it's not really his fault that he doesn't know to celebrate it the right way. He finds that he's totally fucking fine being right here, though. 

But then someone's knocking on his door, and he thinks about ignoring it, but then there's just more knocking and he needs it to _stop_ — so he gets up and flings the door open.

And Seth Rollins is standing on his doorstep, like he belongs there. His hair's tied up in a messy bun, he's wearing a blazer over his t-shirt and jeans, he has a crooked smile on his face that Dean would be perfectly happy never seeing again for the rest of his life. 

He can't even remember the last time he was here, at his house. But it probably wasn't a big deal at all, just the three of them hanging out, tossing back some cold ones, on a rare day off. Nothing momentous about it whatsoever. This — this is something else.

He wonders if he's actually dreaming right now, or if he's just more trashed than he thought. Because he has to be imagining this whole thing.

Then he opens his mouth and Dean knows that only the real Seth Rollins can be this fucking irritating. 

"So, you finally outsmarted me, huh? Only took you a couple years." The hint of a smile on his face is nostalgic now, though, almost fond.

"I've been outsmarting you for a long time, Rollins," he says, almost apologetic.

Seth doesn't say anything to that, just barely nods.

"Does it hurt?" Dean asks. It's not malicious, not really, just curious. He feels a strange kind of detachment from this moment, from Seth, right now. He still knows it's there and he can reach for it if he wants — all the pain and rage and love and heartbreak of the last two years — but it's like the volume's been turned down. He's never felt this way before. He's not sure what to do with it.

"Yeah," Seth admits. "But not as bad as some other things."

"Why'd you come here, Seth?" he asks flatly. 

"Everything's just so fucked up, man." He laughs helplessly. And Dean really does not need this right now.

"What do you want from me?" he asks, something he's never had the strength to do before. Maybe knowing what this is only means that it can't go on any longer.

"Nothing," Seth says, like he really means. "I just — I don't feel like being alone."

It probably says a lot about them that Dean can actually understand that. How fucked-up do you have to be for your worst enemy to somehow also be the only real friend you have in the world. 

Dean just steps aside, lets Seth come in before swinging the door shut behind them.

Seth sits next to him on the couch. Dean pours them both a drink, passes him a glass. He just takes it wordlessly. They sit there for about fifteen minutes, in complete silence, just watching Bugs Bunny. Seth's obviously trying to ignore the title sitting on the table in front of them. The title that was his for almost an entire year, the title he reclaimed and then lost in short order a few hours ago.

"I see why you watch this," Seth eventually says. "It's basically an analogy for real life."

Dean just frowns at him. "Man, it's way too fucking late for me to decipher what the fuck you're going on about."

"I don't know," Seth muses. "Somehow it just totally figures that I'd tear apart my fucking knee out of the blue, be out for six months, come back and get my title back — and then lose it in five minutes."

Dean shrugs. "That's what they call karma, man."

Seth scoffs. "Karma's not a real thing. The world is just full of random, endless chaos. Being a good person doesn't guarantee you shit, not in this life or any other."

"That how you justify it?" he asks.

"I'm not trying to justify anything. I do what I have to do. If that makes me a —"

"A fucking scumbag?" Dean offers.

"Whatever. We're all gonna die someday anyway. Best to enjoy it while we're here." Seth takes a swig of his drink.

"Are you really enjoying it?" Dean asks skeptically. "Because you seem fucking miserable to me."

Seth laughs mockingly at that. "And _you're_ really living your most fulfilling life, right?"

"I don't know," Dean says. "Being the World Heavyweight Champion ain't too shabby."

"Yeah, and that's doing a whole lot of good for you. Nice to see that all your friends came by to congratulate you on that."

Dean shakes his head. "I don't care about any of that shit. I got me. I got this body, as beat-up as it is. Got two fists. That's all I need."

"Where's Roman anyway?" Seth asks casually.

"He just needs some time to cool off," Dean says, trying not to sound bitter about it. "He's probably with the fam."

Seth just seems to realise something then for the first time. "Well, I beat him. I can beat _you_."

Dean just smiles knowingly at him. "Nah, you're not getting this back. Not as long as I have it."

"That a challenge?" Seth says, raising an eyebrow at him.

"It's a _promise_ ," he says evenly. "Not everything has to be a fucking dare, Seth."

"Why not? Isn't that what _this_ always is?"

"This?" Dean asks, confused.

"Yeah —" Seth starts.

"There's no _this_ ," Dean tells him firmly. "There's no —"

"What?" Seth asks, like a dare of his own.

" _Us._ " The word itself feels wrong rolling off his tongue.

"What am I doing here then?" Seth asks, a rhetorical question if he's ever heard one.

Dean's about to tell him to get the fuck out, but instead, before he realises what's happening, Seth's moving closer to him on the couch, until all he can see is his face, his eyes — and then he's tilting his head and fitting their mouths together. Soft, so soft, softer than it's ever been.

Dean moves back after a few seconds, one hand on Seth's chest. 

"The fuck are we doing?" He's definitely not even close to drunk enough for whatever this is. 

Seth shrugs. "I don't know. You just won the title. I just lost it. And there isn't anyone else."

He doesn't stop him when he leans in this time.

It's sad but not at the same time. It just feels like something's changing. It almost feels like some kind of goodbye. 

*

Seth wakes up in his bed for the first time, just blinks across at him for a moment, warily, like he's gauging what exactly this means. 

"You know, you were right," Dean tells him pensively. 

"About what?" Seth asks, eyes narrowed.

"People like us don't get happy endings. We have to _take_ it."

Seth just stares at him.

"You should probably go," Dean says, voice hollow, turning away from him.

He wonders if this is the last time.

 

\+ 1. 

When they're finally alone again backstage, Dean just looks him in the eyes for a moment or two before reaching out for him again. It's more tentative than it was back in the ring. It was desperate and helpless then, before the match was even over, like their bodies were magnetically attracted to each other, just seeking a moment's respite from the carnage all around them. Leaning on each other. Holding each other up. Finally taking a second to breathe.

Now, it's more deliberate. It's Dean finally letting his guard down, letting Seth inside, letting himself be completely exposed and vulnerable. He's choosing to ask for something he didn't dare to before. 

They were just in an all-out war. And it feels like something's changed, yet again, between them.

So, Seth reaches back out for Dean and lets him lean his body into his own, holds him tight, gently cradling his head against his shoulder. Seth's body feels as shaky and tired as his own — it still kind of feels like his knees are about to give out from sheer exhaustion, and every muscle in his body is burning — but he doesn't waver. He just keeps holding him up.

"Hey, it's okay," Seth tells him, stroking his hair. "Everything's good now."

They stay like that for a few minutes, until Dean's breathing evens out, and it feels like they're probably both going to fall asleep on their feet any second now.

Seth starts pulling away first, just the slightest bit — but it's like he can't resist brushing some hair off of Dean's forehead and dropping a soft kiss on his temple before he lets go of him completely.

Dean just looks up at him for a moment, part startled, part confused, and part something else he can't quite place right now. Seth looks stricken, terrified, like he's wondering if he's crossed some invisible line he shouldn't have that's still separating them. Like he's wondering if he just ruined it all again. 

He starts pulling away again, more abruptly this time, but Dean grabs his wrist before he can move and just brushes his lips over Seth's, as soft as he can. It's the barest of contact, almost like they're just sharing the same breath. It's just a question.

Seth's eyes fall shut and he sighs deeply against Dean's mouth. He brings his hands up to gently frame Dean's face, lines them up so he can kiss him back properly.

And that's all the answer he needs.

They're both too wrecked to really commit to it, just lips sliding against lips, clumsy and dazed, but it feels like it wakes up every nerve ending in Dean's body anyway. 

After a few minutes of slow, lazy kissing, Dean pulls away, his hands still tangled in Seth's hair, their noses brushing against each other.

"I can barely keep my eyes open anymore," he says, apologetic. 

Seth kisses him on the cheek one last time.

"Yeah," he agrees, nodding. "Let's get out of here."

*

"How's your arm feel?" Seth asks when they're both lying on Dean's bed after, just watching each other. 

"Not great," he admits. "Probably should get it looked at."

The way Seth's looking at him says he knows he probably isn't going to, though. 

"I'm sorry," he says instead. "About tonight. Should've been the three of us out there."

"Nah, it was all right. Had you, at least. That was enough." He's probably too exhausted right now to know what the hell he's saying. 

Seth's face just goes really soft and he just moves closer to him on the bed, until Dean can feel his breath on his cheek, Seth reaching for his hand. 

The last time they slept together like this was the night after they got back together. Seth had just pressed himself to his back, cheek against his shoulder blade, and had whispered "I'm sorry" over and over until he fell asleep.

*

A week later, Seth crawls on top of him in the middle of the ring, shielding him with his own body from any further attack.

Dean just grabs him when they get backstage and Seth’s eyes go wide like he thinks he's actually going to punch him in the face.

He can't say the thought hasn't crossed his mind. 

"Are you fucking insane?" he demands instead. "Do you actually have a fucking death wish or something?" 

"I'm not going to let anyone hurt you," Seth says, like that's the most obvious thing in the world.

Dean scoffs. "I can take care of myself."

"That's not what I mean —" Seth says, looking contrite now.

"What the hell do you mean then?" Dean bursts out.

"I've never had anything I wanted to keep so badly," Seth tells him, looking him right in the eyes.

"Then why the fuck did you leave?" Dean snaps, before he even realises the words that are coming out of his mouth. 

Seth just stares at him, looking like he actually did just hit him. He's about to tell him to forget it, but then Seth speaks again.

"I didn't expect this," he says quietly. "I didn't expect _you_. I didn't expect to care this much."

"You fucked it up," Dean tells him, voice breaking.

"I know," Seth says, eyes starting to water.

"I trusted you," Dean says, angry now. "I _loved_ you. So fucking much."

Seth squeezes his eyes shut for a second, swallows hard, before looking back at him, nodding.

"I know," he says again. He looks like he's trying with everything he has to not reach out and touch Dean.

Dean takes a deep breath. "We can't go back to how it was."

"I know. But — this. _You._ This is all I want. As long as you want it too," Seth says, eyes big and bright and imploring. 

"You mean that?" Dean says, hopeful.

Seth lets himself reach out then, takes Dean hand in his own, presses it to his own chest, right over his heart.

"It's yours," Seth promises him. "It's always been yours."

"Okay," Dean agrees after a moment. "Just promise me you won't do anything stupid again."

Seth smiles at him, blinking away tears. "I don’t know if I can. Stupid is kind of our thing."

Dean nods. "Fair enough."


End file.
